The fighter jets by Mark Young

come in
over the
runway,
low, half

a minute
apart, no
need to
touch down

on an area
they have
already made
their own. So.

Into the air
again, steep
rise, forty-
five degrees,

turning first
towards the
sea & then
sweeping in-

land in an
arc, corral-
ling the
noise that

trails behind
them before
closing the
loop tight,

capturing
everything —
clouds, birds,
noise, the

people on
the ground —
but taking no
prisoners.

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One thought on “The fighter jets by Mark Young

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